


Ignorance is bliss

by Apuzzlingprince



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford and Stanley meet on a park bench. Things escalate from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignorance is bliss

Stanley’s fingers were so cold they had gone completely numb. His other extremities weren’t fairing much better. He rubbed his hands together to create some warming friction, and then set them on his cheeks. Typically he would be sitting in his car with his heater on full blast on a day like this, but the ol’ Stanley Mobile had broken down several months ago and he hadn’t yet found the money to take her in for repairs. 

He was without shelter, warmth, and his clothes were a little damp, but at least he still had food. A turkey sandwich he’d been handed by someone who had assumed him a bum (which, if he was honest with himself, wasn’t entirely off mark). He took the now-warm sandwich from inside his jacket and tore it out of its plastic packaging, removing a chunk to shove into his mouth-

But it didn’t reach it, because some asshole sat down so close to him that his sandwich went flying out of his hand and into the dirt. He looked mournfully to the mess that had become of what was supposed to be his breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and then turned to snarl at the person responsible.

“Oh, geeze.” the person – looked to be a late twenties business man – briefly reached for the fallen sandwich, but seeing that it was a lost cause, resumed sitting on the bench. “I’m so sorry,” he continued in a high, guilty voice. “I slipped on my way down.”

“Okay, whatever,” Stanley growled. He hugged his arms to his chest both as an act of petulance, and to warm himself. “Not like it’s the only food I’ve had in three days. It’s fine.”

“That’s… that’s oddly specific.” The man looked pityingly at Stanley, and Stanley hated that even more than the loss of his food. 

“Uh huh, it’s also none of your business,” he snapped. “Fuck off.”

The man didn’t ‘fuck off’. He continued sitting next to him, thigh to thigh, like some kind of weirdo. “Look, uh… this must be really out of the blue…” He was right about that. The man hesitated. “Really, _really_ out of the blue, but you look exactly like Stanford Pines, and he mentioned having-“

Stanley whipped around to look at him, eyes wide. He hadn’t heard Stanford’s name uttered in years. Not even from his own mouth. “You know my brother?”

“Yes, I do. He’s a brilliant man, and I’m proud to say we were acquaintances in college.” He raised a hand, offering it to Stanley. Stanley, unaccustomed to such formalities, merely stared. “Um…” The hand slowly descended. “I’m Fiddleford McGucket. You’re Stanley Pines, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. That’s me. Stanley Pines, brother of the all-amazing Stanford Pines.” The dumber, sweatier version of Stanford Pines, that was him. He had been that since primary school, and he expected he was going to be that until his death. “Surprised you managed to find me. I’m probably not what you were expecting, huh?”

“Well, I – I wouldn’t say that.” Fiddleford shifted uncomfortably. “He did speak about you.”

“ _Oh_.” If Fiddleford wasn’t surprised to find him in this condition, Stanford couldn’t have said anything good. Now Stanley was cold, hungry, _and_ heartbroken.  

“-It wasn’t all bad! He, uh, he said some good things!” The fast, stuttering way Fiddleford spoke didn’t reassure him. “I won’t get into those, um, good things, since you look a little cold. How about you accompany me to my apartment and we chat there?”

Stanley eyed him with suspicion. “You aren’t trying to proposition something, are ya? Because I might like being warm and fed, but I ain’t no prostitute.”

“Oh!” Fiddleford jolted in surprise. “Oh, god, no! No, no, no, I just thought you might appreciate a warm place to stay for a lil’ while!” Fiddleford raised his hands in a placating gesture. “If you’re rather not, that’s perfectly alright.”

“You’d better not be a crazy axe murderer or something,” Stanley said while turning to point an accusing finger at Fiddleford. “Because if you are…”

Fiddleford looked incredulous. “Do I look like an axe murderer to you?”

“Hey, if a guy as dapper as Ted Bundy can be a serial killer, anyone can.”

“Guess you have a point there.” Fiddleford stood from the bench and made a show of straightening his jacket. There wasn’t really any need to, considering Stanley looked as if he’d just crawled out of a gutter. He couldn’t care less if this guy had a few wrinkles on his fancy clothes. “I take it that’s a no, then…?”

“What? No-“ Stanley jumped to his feet. “I mean, no, it’s a yes. Yes, I want to stay.” In this weather, he was willing to chance falling into the trap of a serial killer for a few hours of warmth. “And while we’re there, you can make me a sandwich, since you ruined mine.” He gestured to the mess of turkey and bread spread across the dirt.

Fiddleford didn’t seem especially thrilled to have this demanded of him. “My wife – my… my ex-wife made pork chops. You can have some of those.”

“You’re ex is still cookin’ for you?” Stanley whistled, impressed. “You got a good thing goin’, buddy.”

“I had a better thing going, before we divorced.” Fiddleford started walking, and Stanley followed suit, jogging up behind him. “She wouldn’t be cookin’ at all if not for my son. She worries I won’t feed him.”

“Why? That something you’re done before? Forgotten to feed your kid?”

“Of course not! I just – I get a little distracted by my work, sometimes, so we do eat a little later than most people.”

Stanley snorted. “You forgot, didn’cha?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Fiddleford muttered. His footsteps were fast and long, while Stanley’s were short and languid. “But it did happen _once_. She might’ve forgiven me when we were together, but not while we’re divorced.”

Stanley grinned, emboldened by this information. “What, was it a messy divorce? Can’t have been too messy if she’s still willing to cook for you.”

“It was…” A pause. “Civil.”  

They hurried their way down a footpath and through a park, to a small, tan car sitting on the opposite side of the road. It didn’t look like the car of someone who was poor, but it didn’t look like the car of someone exceedingly rich, either. Or Fiddleford was a simple enough man that he didn’t feel any need to buy anything big and fancy. That wouldn’t have surprised him; Stanley’s first impression of Fiddleford was that he enjoyed the simpler things in life.

He stepped up to its passenger side and waited. Once Fiddleford had unlocked his door, he slipped inside and pulled on his seat belt with more enthusiasm than was warranted. It had just been such a long time since he’d been in someone elses car. With the exception of being forced to ride in a trunk, on one occasion, but that didn’t really count.

Fiddleford peeled off into the busy street at an alarming speed. Stanley ended up pressed hard against his seat, clutching either side of it as Fiddleford drove skilfully through the city traffic. 

Fiddleford didn’t speak until he had taken a sharp right turn into a quiet suburban street. There were houses a few miles up ahead. “So Stanley, what brings you to California?”

The vehicle was going slow enough now that Stanley was no longer choked into silence by unease. “Business,” he said simply. It wasn’t a lie. The purpose of him moving around the country was always business, because most other places refused to accept his business after all the fuck ups he had made.

“You sell products, right? I think I remember seeing you on one of those long advertisements.”

“That’s right. Most recent product was a racket. Had to take that off the market because the wires kept on breaking and hurting people.” Stanley shrugged. “I still have a ton of those in the back of my car. Got them mass produced. Not sure what to do with them now.”

“You could get them fixed…?”

“Dunno if that’s possible. Don’t have the money for it, either.”

“Maybe you could try a job in human services for a while? You seem to be good at it, judging by the advertisements.”

“No one’s gonna hire me. My resume sucks.” Stanley leaned his head into the window, watching as they drove by a park full of frolicking children. This was a nice city. It had parks where Stanley was used to seeing factories and abandoned office buildings, and people seemed more charitable here. Like they saw their homeless population as people rather than vermin mooching off of the hard working, well-do people of their city.  

He idly ran his finger over his car seat. His own seats leather, and these were pleasantly soft. 

“How about you show me it once we get back to my place?” Fiddleford suggested. “I might be able to offer you a few tips.” This guy was way too charitable not to be an axe killer. Stanley eyed him warily.

“What’s the catch?”

“Catch?” Fiddleford parroted, visibly confused. 

“Nothing’s for free. What do I have to give you in return?” The only thing Stanley could offer was his car – or his body, but he didn’t like to consider that an option. He liked to pretend he had at least a little bit of dignity left. 

“Not a thing,” Fiddleford replied. “Consider it part of the payment for the sandwich I ruined.”

Stanley tilted his head to smile lopsidedly at Fiddleford. “Fids, do I look like the type of guy who carries around his resume?”

Fiddleford eyes flicked very briefly over to him. “I don’t think there’s a specific description for someone who carries around a resume, but we can always write one up together if you don’t have it.”

Stanley guffawed. “You’re _that_ determined to help me out, huh?”

“It’s the least I can do.” A beat of silence, and he added. “For you, and your brother.”

His brother, huh? He’d have thought his brother would revel in his failure, considering he ‘ruined his future’. Stanley turned back to watching the world fly past through the window. 

* * *

After spending the evening there, Fiddleford offered to shelter him for a few days. Stanley was hesitant to accept. He still barely knew this man, and thought they had become quick friends, he was extra weary of who he bunked with after having made the mistake of befriending two violent Spaniards. Jorge had been a little to touchy-feely for his liking, and Rico had snuck into his apartment one night and held a knife to this throat, threatening him with death if he didn’t pay back his loans. Stanley had subsequently fled the state. 

Fiddleford was nowhere near as intimidating as either Rico or Jorge. Skinny and tall, he hardly looked like someone who would later cause Stanley trouble, and he had a son. A toddler. The boy, ‘Tate’, wasn’t able to stay with his dad three days out of a week, but the presence of a kid was reassuring enough that being introduced to him banished all his reservations. He accepted.

And the days flew by. After having Fiddleford help him write a resume, he started sending out letters to nearby businesses. Few responded, and even fewer invited him in for an interview. Fiddleford was kind enough to encourage him to stay for as long as he was unemployed, provided he helped around the house, and Stanley did. He babysat, he cleaned, he cooked, and he acted as muscle when he needed to. He helped for well over a month, and then continued to help when Fiddleford employed him as an assistant. 

By then, he had started to realize his feeling for Fiddleford weren’t entirely professional.

After flirting with Fiddleford until the scientist caught on, he started to realize Fiddleford’s feeling for him weren’t entirely professional, either.

Their first kiss took place late at night, while Tate was dozing in front of the television. Fiddleford pressed his soft, warm lips against Stanley’s, and Stanley pressed back, moving to wrap his arms around Fiddleford’s skinny form. It was only a particularly loud snore from Tate that stopped them from progressing any further. 

From then onwards, he was Fiddleford ‘darling’. (He wasn’t especially fond of the nickname, but Fiddleford insisted upon it, ‘because it’s cute, darlin’.)

It took Stanley a long time to get used to being in a relationship. It was only by his fifth month at the Mcgucket household that he was able to be convinced by Fiddleford and Tate that he wouldn’t eventually be asked to leave. Fiddleford and Tate were happy to have him stay. In fact, they _wanted_ Stanley to stay. The abandonment issues that had developed after being cast out by his family made this difficult to accept, but Fiddleford was patient. Every night before bed, he would reassure Stanley with a whisper in his ear,

“I want you. I want you. I want you.”

* * *

“Stanley.” Fiddleford had a bounce in his step as he exited his garage, grinning from ear to ear. “Guess who I just got off the phone to?”

“Steve?” Stanley supplied from the kitchen; he was a work colleague of Fiddleford’s who Fiddleford saw for coffee at least once a fortnight. 

“Even better.” Fiddleford was still smiling as he reached the kitchen. 

Stanley piled some pickles onto a slice of buttered bread and then slammed the top slice over them, squishing them down so they wouldn’t fall out while he ate. “Someone better than Steve? Didn’t know such a person could exist.”

Fiddleford chuckled. “There’s always you, isn’t there? And on the subject of _you_ , you _really_ need to stop eating all-pickle sandwiches. We have deli meat in the fridge for a reason.”

“Tastes good.” Stanley shrugged and took a bite. “So, who was on the phone?” he asked around a mouthful of bread and pickle.

“Your brother.”

He coughed so hard he was pretty sure some pickle managed to reach his lungs. Fiddleford was quick to step up and gently massage his back while he coughed.

“S-Stanford? Stanford called?” he stammered out between coughs.

Fiddleford’s smile had dropped into a frown. “He did. He said he had a project he wanted my help with, and I accepted.” His hand moved away from between his shoulder blades and around to a cheek. He tilted Stanley’s face up. “But if you want to stay here, we don’t have to go. I just thought you might want to see your brother again.”

Stanley cleared his throat and swallowed, tilting his face into Fiddleford’s cool palm. “But I – I dunno if he wants to see me. It’s been so long, Fids. What if he doesn’t want me? What if he asks me to leave?”

“He won’t. Stanford’s a better person than that.” Fiddleford leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead, and stanley flushed a dark red. “I’ll even talk to him about it beforehand to make sure.”

“Geeze, you know I can’t say no when you do smoopey shit like this.” He playfully shoved Fiddleford away, and Fiddleford laughed and proceeded to attack his face with kisses. Stanley spluttered, but made only a token effort to resist.

“Guess you’ll be coming to Gravity Falls with me then, huh?”

Stanley managed to stop Fiddleford’s assault by smothering Fiddleford’s lips with his own. They were both breathless when he finally pulled back to respond. “Y-yeah, guess I will be.”

“Don’t worry, Stanley,” Fiddleford murmured. He laced their fingers and held on tight. His other hand found the small of Stanley’s back, pulling him into a hug. “Stanford will accept you back into his life, and we can live in town, together, like a family. Everything’s going to be just fine.” 

Stanley wasn’t so sure about that, but… ignorance is bliss.


End file.
